Fifty's Christmas Carol
by WeAreJorus
Summary: **COMPLETE.** The spirits were watching. They always watched. Some they watched were purely for entertainment value, others, in the hope of setting them on a different path. This one in particular was the latter. And this one, like so few, would need all three.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: What you're about to read is the reason I have neglected to update Forgotten, and I do apologize... but I hope this little holiday gift will help you to forgive me. We'll resume our regularly scheduled programming in January. Happy Holidays to all, and to all a good night!**

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Fifty's Christmas Carol

by WeAreJorus

~ Prologue ~

The spirits were watching. They always watched. Some of the Watched were purely for entertainment value, others, in the hope of setting them on a different path. This one in particular was the latter. And this one, like so few, would need all three.

"What do you think?" One says to Two.

Two considers the object of their interest. "He has much to give, and has already given much. But he's disengaged and prone to forget. He's going to lose them."

"I concur," says Three. "But I fear we may have to hurt him more than he's ever been, and he's been damaged considerably."

"Do you think that's wise?" Two interjects.

Both of the latter look to One, who is quiet a moment. "It may be the only way. This one is special. He will never realize his limits if we do not test them. He would appreciate the sentiment, wouldn't you agree?"

Three nods. "Who should pass along the warning?"

"Send the old man!" Two offers. He's been hoping for the opportunity.

"Yes, the old man," agrees Three. "That would be best."

One considers the messenger. "Send word. We begin immediately."


	2. Chapter 2

~ The Visitor ~

To begin with, Fifty Shades was still fucked up.

Ana's cheeks were flushed, her purple sweater hanging loosely and disheveled, blue eyes piercing with angry resignation. She tossed the tangled ponytail over her shoulder. "I'm taking Teddy and spending the night in Bellevue. When you're ready to rejoin the family, you'll know where to find us."

"Ana, wait!" I yelled after her, but she bounced a sniffling Teddy on her hip, stomped to the front door with a red-faced Sawyer at her heels and slammed it behind her.

And here I stand, alone in my office, at a near-loss for what just transpired. "Shit!" I hiss through my teeth, my fingers scraping my scalp. _I don't need this._ I work hard, harder than most people, to provide a blessed life for my family. I give them everything they need and want. I make sure they're safe and happy. Well, they ought to be happy, but as was just established at high volume, they're not. Or, Ana isn't, and so Teddy is unhappy by proxy. Her '_we'_ excluded _me_ several times this evening. I wish she'd given me a reasonable account of her displeasure, but as had become the _daily_ norm, she refused to articulate her accusations with any amount of sense. _Daily,_ I emphasize again. At least the days I was able to avoid a trip to Boston for a business venture that's been in the works for some time. I was home today of all days for fuck's sake, that should have mattered. But it doesn't count in her eyes; it wasn't enough "effort", as she put it, to keep her home on this particular evening. She cannot possibly comprehend the extent of my effort. And on top of everything, she made our eighteen-month-old cry.

"Anything I can do, Sir?"

I sigh, releasing the white-knuckled grip I didn't realize I had on the back of an oak side chair. "No, Taylor."

He nods. "Mrs. Taylor has prepared your supper; she and I will be heading out now, if there's nothing else."

"That will be all, thank you. Drive safely."

"Of course, Sir. All our best for your holiday."

"You too."

My right hand man bows out, I hear the heavy door at the end of the wing click shut and an engine start, and then it faded away.

Silence.

"Shit!" My hand sweeps across an end table, sending four heavy marble orbs and a mahogany bowl clattering to the hardwood. I stare dumb at the mess I've made as my breathing slows, realize my housekeeper has just departed for two days and angrily collect the scattered items myself, slamming them down on the table from whence they came.

_This is not going according to plan._ I'd intended to come home from a long week in the city that never sleeps, enjoy Christmas Eve dinner with my family, read my son the new book I bought him, make love to my beautiful wife and hopefully conceive the second child she's been longing for, and then, actually _sleep_. That was the plan, and it was a fucking good one. The plan _I_ had in mind didn't have room for the chaos that ensued the second I stepped through the door. _My_ plan didn't have a contingency for the tears or angry words or the remnant toddler vomit that dripped down my fine linen shirt…

"_Shit!_" I'd forgotten about that.

My legs carry me across the house; at least they still obey me, if no one else does. The dining room, set beautifully for a modest Christmas Eve meal, mocks me as I walk by, mingling with the sour smell coming from my chest. I wrestle out of my shirt, tossing it on the floor, and then remembering the housekeeper situation, pick it up and throw it haphazardly into the laundry receptacle. Yanking a t-shirt from a nearby drawer, I pull it on, but the offending former shirt hangs limply, the stain gloriously exposed. I march on over, shoving it to the bottom of the basket and out of sight. That'll teach it.

Gail has left an enormous pot of mouthwatering butternut squash soup in the slow-cooker. A basket of fresh rolls rests nearby, and on the bar, a towering covered platter of Christmas cookies. All this, and my wife is too angry to share it. What a marvelous start to the holiday season.

I check my BlackBerry. No missed calls, two texts from the office. _Time for a new plan,_ I decide. I ladle soup into a deep mug, stuff a roll in my mouth and head back to my office. If my family would rather not spend the evening with me, I can at least get some work done. I'm nothing if not efficient.

Four phone calls, three projection reports, two mugs of soup and a partridge in a pear tree later, I've not heard from Ana. I sent her a text, telling her to please come home, as I hadn't done anything to warrant her multicolored tirade or the following storm-out. Then I sent a text to Elliott, knowing that he and Kate are also spending Christmas at the family estate and demanding to know that Ana had arrived safely and whether she'd received my text, and all the response I received was the little three-lettered word to the affirmative. I deduce that my own brother isn't speaking to me, either. I tap my fingers on the desk, a habit I picked up from countless moments of mutual frustration with my father across his own office desk. _What the fuck?_ I'll straighten Elliott out later.

My desk clock chimes eleven. _Fuck_. I was going to give Barney a call back, but he's probably deep into the science fiction marathon he'd tortured my ears with mentioning… at great length… just a half hour before. Fucking holidays, just another excuse to delay profits and consume massive quantities of food while countless children around the world starve. I'm beginning to regret that second cup of soup, come to think of it.

I've just started on a fourth projection report when the Tiffany lamp in my office flickers for a moment, and then fades out altogether. There's no light coming from the doorway, prompting me to freeze in suspicion, but the master-of-the-house mentality forces me to my feet. _Oh, for fuck's sake._ "You have got to be shitting me! Ryan!" I call. Taylor left the guy in charge of the control room tonight; he's probably fallen asleep at the desk. "Ryan!"

"_He can't hear you."_

_Oh, fuck._

Every drop of blood in me freezes, chilling me to my core. _I know that voice._ My legs weaken, a thousand thoughts and denials flooding into my brain, and I sink back into the desk chair_. It can't be._ I blink, forcing my eyes to adjust to the gray-blue ambience of night coming through the bay window at my back.

A silhouette traced in moonlight inches forward out of the shadows.

"Hello, Christian."

_Fuck, no. This isn't possible._

"I'm rather glad you're sitting, Little Grey. It's good to see you."

"You…" I choke on my own breaths. "This… you… it's impossible."

"Suspend your disbelief for a moment, my boy. We never had a real goodbye, you and I. Let's not waste what little time we have."

"Gran… Grandfather?" I say, stupidly.

Theodore Trevelyan chuckles. "You're too bright for all this stuttering. What happened to the Chief Executive who was just here? He's been stomping around all evening. And making my Great-grandson cry, too. You should have gone after them, Christian."

"What?"

He's tinted in silver, but it looks like him. Even sports the slight limp he's always had, as he moves around the table on which I took out my earlier frustrations and lowers himself casually into one of the oak chairs. "That's actually why I'm here. I have a message from…" his eyes shift to the side, "well, let's just say I have a message."

"A message?" I gather what words I can manage.

"That's right." He leans on one elbow. "There are far bigger things at work here. Things I don't yet fully comprehend, but things, nonetheless. You're a part of such things, Christian. How you play your part will decide many fates, not just your own."

"Everyone has control of their own destiny. You taught me that," I insist.

"Ah! You've found your words have you? Yes, you are correct, to a point. But some have more integrity, are much more influential, have a firmer hand in what's in play. Those are the ones with the real power to effect change, but it's a fine line between progress and more… unsavory results."

I snort. "I effect positive change every day! If I'm not hiring, at least no one is losing work. I fix what's broken, making lives better for everyone involved, and creating opportunities for the less fortunate. I don't require a lecture on change."

"Yes, yes, you're a successful businessman. No one is questioning that." Grandfather rises, with a bit more agility than I recall. "I'll get to the point. A few… acquaintances… require an audience with you. They'll visit in succession and be gone before the night is out. They may take familiar form, just to be warned. It's up to their discretion. The first will arrive in an hour." He moves back around the table the way he came.

"Wait!" This is ridiculous. This cannot be happening in my house, or anywhere, for that matter. My regimented psyche forces me to take control of the situation, even if it means consenting to play along. "Why not all come at once and get it over with?"

"That isn't how it works." Grandfather sighs. "It was good to see you again, Christian. Teddy sure is beautiful. I appreciate the sentiment in his name. For his sake, I do hope you'll take this seriously." He steps back into the shadows, a cool breeze floats through, rustling the papers before me on the desk, and the errant lamp rises to its previous ambience level.

_What… the fuck… just happened?_

"Ryan!" I'm on my feet again in an instant, nearly running from my office. The control room door is cracked. "Did you not hear me call you?"

"Sir?" Owen Ryan tears his gaze from the multiple flatscreen monitors above the security desk.

"Five minutes ago, did you not hear me call?"

"No, I'm sorry, Sir. What can I do for you?"

"Run the surveillance in my office back five minutes and play it."

"Yes, sir."

He doesn't move fast enough for my liking, but complies as he ought. The recording shows me at my desk, reading as I surely had been. Waiting, waiting… I check my Blackberry. _Yes, I remember that. _I can even make out my fingers tapping on the desk. _Yes, that happened as well, right before… but did that even happen?_ Then I'm on my feet, storming out of the room…. but… I just did that. No blackout. Nothing in between. _So it didn't happen…_

I may have finally gone mad.

"Did you lose power anywhere?" I demand. If I'm going to damn myself to insanity, I might as well gather the facts.

"Sir? The grid has been continuously active since the upgrade last week."

I almost open my mouth about the outage in my office, but think better of it. No, it' probably a good idea that the staff doesn't know I've completely lost it.

"Are you all right, Sir?" the young man looks at me expectantly.

"I'm fine. Good night." _Translation: I need a drink, badly._ _Brandy, yes, that's what I need._ I find what I'm looking for in the glass cabinet off the dining room and pour the rich, amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. I throw it back in one gulp and pour another, hoping to wash away the shadowy image of my late grandfather from my brain. I'm going to need more than alcohol to rid myself of this particular moment of insanity. Fuck, Flynn's vacationing in New Zealand.

I abandon the tools of my vice at the breakfast bar before I imbibe far too much and stumble to the bedroom suite, nearly tripping over Ana's sitting room chaise lounge. _Ana, my dear, darling wife who wants nothing to do with me at the moment. Perhaps I'll solve that particular puzzle in the morning._ Needing just a hint of fresh air to steel my wavering stomach, I crack a window and swallow a mouthful of chilled winter air. _Ah, that's what I needed, like a cold shower._ Moving to the bed, kicking off my shoes on the way, I tear the covers back and dive facedown onto the mattress, yanking up the blanket, hoping that it will swallow me whole.

God, Christmas is such a waste.


	3. Chapter 3

~ The First ~

"Wake up, Christian."

I snuffle the pillow. It can't be morning yet. _No, another hour. That's all I need, and then I'll get back to work, or go for a run. Just a little while longer in my soft bed, our bed…_

"For fuck's sake, Christian!"

_Oh, I know that sultry tone._ A sourness grips the pit of my stomach and I wince. The events of the night before flood back to me, and my eyes crank open. Trouble on long legs stares down at me from where I drool into the sheets, red-taloned hands on hips. She snaps her fingers at me.

"Chop, chop. We don't have long."

"Fuck, Elena," I practically spit. "I told you never to contact me again. Who the fuck let you in?" _Whoever it was is fucking fired._

She laughs. "First of all, I let myself in. And second, I'm not… _her_," she rolls her eyes and waves dismissively on the last word. "Though, this body isn't hard on the eyes, is it? I may save it for future use." The ever-exasperating Mrs. Lincoln looks herself up and down in the mirror over the white dresser… _Holy Shit._

I can't decide whether I bolted out of the bed or whether it unceremoniously dumped me out, what I thought was my bed, _was_ my bed… the pristine white sheets of the long twin mattress lie twisted and hanging over the edge. My third-floor bedroom over the garage of the estate, in all its familiar glory, now envelops me to a point of sterile claustrophobia. I gulp, my mouth dry and my head aching. _I'm dreaming, and conjuring a nice hangover. That's all this is. Time to wake up now._ I look down to the thin scar on the top of my right thumb, an exercise in consciousness control I'd picked up from one of the series of therapists I'd endured. Funnily enough, if any of this can be considered funny, the thin, white line was where I'd cut myself doing yard work for the stiletto-clad she-devil.

Her arms were now crossed, eyebrow raised at me.

"When you're done figuring out that you can't wake yourself, let me know. We have quite a bit of ground to cover, so hurry up!" she waves at me.

My head turns of its own accord and I consider her out the corner of my eye. This is all very strange, but I've had dreams that far exceed the level of bizarre this falls onto. "I'm not a patient man. What do you want?"

"To show you a few things. It won't take too long. And if it makes you feel any more cooperative, no one will see or hear you." The frost queen herself raises an eyebrow at me again, daring me to be contrary. Such a familiar gesture, I nearly flinch. That face customarily indicated her great displeasure and usually preceded one hell of a sensual beating. The thought makes me sick. As though she could read my immediate thoughts, she rolls her eyes. "Oh for crying out loud, I'm not really _her!_" And as I blink in disbelief, she became my subsequent conquest, Simone. Then Clorissa, Felicity, Venna, Rylie, Jennifer… _fuck… Fuck… FUCK!_ All fifteen, all flash before my eyes, and then Elena is back, running lazy fingers up her arms as though to make sure she'd reassembled herself correctly. The sensation that creeps up my spine is thick and bitter, and makes me think of infidelity, but never actually having experienced the act I can't be sure that was its true name. But shit, does being a witness to her transformative tantrum _ever_ feel like cheating. _God, I'll never drink again. I swear._

"Which would you prefer?" Her arms cross again.

I stare dumbly, considering that perhaps, if I play along, she'll go away, and as I can't wake myself it seems the most expedient option. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

The surreal Mrs. Lincoln smiles dazzlingly. "Excellent. Shall we?" she extends her hand.

I gulp and reluctantly take it.

~oOo~

_It was the second Christmas with the Greys,_ I recall. I remember this well, near-perfect recollection, as so many of my young memories plague me. Fortunately, this one isn't memorable for being traumatic, or at least, it wasn't supposed to be. As I watch from the upstairs ledge over the parlor, my mother, much younger, cuddles the newly adopted Mia in her arms as her two boys consider their gifts under the tree. _One of those boys is me,_ I muse over and over, and I sink to the plush carpet and peer through the carved bannister railing.

"They can't see you," my escort reminds me.

"I'm aware," I hiss, silencing her. The younger me, far more subdued than little Elliott, was barely picking at the paper of his gift. I don't remember what the gift was, but I distinctly recall the undeserving feeling of being offered so many nice things. My mother calls the younger me over to her and has him sit beside her, gently placing baby Mia in his lap. Little Christian is instantly enchanted, I'd almost forgotten, and the corner of my mouth twitches.

"Mia likes having you as a big brother, Christian," my mother tells him, knowing Elliott wouldn't be offended in the slightest; the older boy was far too interested in the erector set Younger Dad helps him to unwrap.

It's been years since I thought about this point in my memory, but I recall it perfectly. Little Christian's brow furrows, much as mine does now when I consider things that are very personally difficult. I knew what was coming next. This was the moment they'd waited for over two years, but it caught me by surprise as well.

"Mia," Little Christian pronounces quietly. I almost missed it.

There are gasps all around, and even Elliott drops what he's holding, a small metal beam that clatters to the floor with a thud.

"That's right," my mother tells him, voice choked with joyous relief. She leans in to press a kiss to his unruly copper hair, and baby Mia makes a sound of infant protest.

Little Christian clutches her harder and leans away. "Mine."

"Yes," my mother says. "She's your sister." I can't quite see her face, but her fingers brush her cheeks. _She's crying._ It dawns on me, I'd not realized how affected she was by me until much later. "You'll help keep her safe, won't you?"

Little Christian nods, and that's the end of that. I remember feeling embarrassed by my speech at first, and that I didn't speak again for a few days, when I'd woken to the sound of Mia crying from down the hall after the baby monitor battery had given out. It was a bit easier the second time.

"Your sister helped you then," Elena comments.

"She's helped me since," I counter. "But even so, I still went to you."

Elena laughs. "I'm not her, I told you. But yes, you still did. And that wasn't Mia's fault."

"I never blamed her," I insist, horrified at the suggestion, and glad the little family downstairs can't hear us.

"Of course you didn't," she declares. "But even so, you might have paid closer attention. Let's move forward, another Christmas. I'll show you."

I'm momentarily blinded, and instinctively throw my arms out in front of me as to get my bearings, but also to prevent anything touching me without warning. A chill runs up from my fingertips, and as my senses return I find myself standing ankle deep in a snowdrift outside a blue house, the Elena duplicate leaning against an evergreen not thirty feet away. I make to move toward her when she points to the front door.

"Excellent lesson, Christian, we'll resume after the first of the year. Merry Christmas!"

_Miss Kathie._ I haven't thought of her in a while… too long a while. My younger self, I must be twelve or thirteen, stands by my mother, little Mia on her hip. She nudges me… him… and he recites on command, "Thank you, Miss Kathie."

"A wonderful holiday to you, Miss Kathie," my mother wishes her. "Come along, Christian."

They move down to the car, my mother gazing down at him, and my younger self, staring straight ahead. On impulse, I follow, as does the clone, who indicates I should climb into the back seat. I find myself seated next to my five-year-old sister. She ignores me, but she's as beautiful a child as I remember.

"Miss Kathie tells me you've finished the Sonata," my mother says. Casual conversation was her way of gently drawing out information, and I hated resisting.

"Yes," he replies.

She nods pleasantly, eyes on the road, but her mind on the copper-headed boy. She drives a few miles before trying again. "Have you two thought about what you'd like for Christmas?"

"A pink pony!" Mia squeals, not wasting any time.

"A pink pony?" Mom humors her. "Like the one from Lily's party?" I'm transported back to one of many children's parties I'd been dragged to; the one in particular had a number of pastel-sprayed Shetland ponies for the little girls to ride. I'd attempted to escape on the powder blue one.

Mia nods enthusiastically.

"Well, your father and I will have to talk at length about that," she teases, playing along for the time being. "Christian?"

My younger self glances around anxiously, and we share a sweeping feeling of ill-worth. "Not really," he replies.

"There must be something you'd like, darling," she encourages. "Care to make shopping easier on me?"

He sighs. "Of course, Mother."

She laughs lightly. "Then tell me what you'd like. Are you worried your father won't approve?"

He shakes his head. His hair was rather long and fell in his eyes, and he swiped it away.

"Please?"

"Christian wants tickets," Mia blurts out.

"Mia!"

"Oh? To what event?"

Little Christian is broodingly silent.

"Christian?" my mother questions.

He sighs again. "David Helfgott."

My mother is quiet, thinking. "I'm not sure who that is."

"There was a movie about him. He's a concert pianist. His style is… unusual." He turns to shoot Mia a scathing look, and though it isn't meant for me, and though he has no idea I'm even back there, it makes me cringe a little. I'd no idea how powerful my expression had been as a child, and I'm a little proud, until I see Mia; she's frowning pitifully.

In the rearview, I saw my mother's lips twitch upward on the words 'concert pianist.' She's woefully unaware of the silent exchange between her children. Of course she'd be pleased at my interest in music, that I'd rather see a classical concert than some silly holiday performance she and Dad probably had planned for us. I'd already been subjected to The Nutcracker twice, and at that point in my life, another exposure to such ridiculousness might have driven me to drink earlier. "I'll look into it."

~oOo~

"I'm sorry, Christian. There just aren't any more tickets." Dad's words are final.

"I don't see the relevance here," I turn to the doppelganger. "I know what happens. I get upset, I fight with Elliott. I'm grounded for a few weeks. Mom gets tickets to something else, I refuse to go, they go without me. End of story."

"Oh, but is it?" She admonishes, tapping my cheek with her fingers. I shrug away. "Pay attention."

"Mommy!"

Mia barrels into my mother's office. Mom, worn from a double-shift at the hospital no doubt, paints on a cheerful smile and opens her arms to her daughter. "Hello my little dove. Would you like a story before bed?"

"Mommy, shh! I have a secwet!" she insists in her little-girl lisp. I find I've rather missed the annoyance.

"Oh?" Mom lifts her onto her lap and holds her close. "Tell me."

"I have Christian's tickets."

"Christian's tickets?"

"For the piano pwayer."

"Mia, darling, there are no more tickets," Mom tells her. "Daddy wasn't able to get any for Christian. We told you this."

"Miss Kathie gave them to me."

"What?" Mom looks confused.

"I cawwed her, and she came and gave them to me, for Christian. Will he be happy now, Mommy?"

"Miss Kathie gave you tickets to David Helfgott?"

"David Heffa-got," Mia nods with finality.

"May I see them?"

Mia nods, jumping down and running from the room. She returns less than a minute later with an envelope clutched in her dimpled hands.

The front is scribbled 'For Christian and Family.' Mom tentatively opens the flap and pulls out the off-white paper, fans them out. There are five. And a note, which Mom reads silently. Mom looks astonished.

"I'll have to call Miss Kathie and thank her."

"Oh Mommy, I thanked her already. Will Christian be happy?"

"Yes, baby. I think he'll be very happy."

And now, I feel like a complete shit. "I had no idea," I say. "I yelled at Mia later that evening, when she tried to tell me. Mom tried to tell me as well, and I didn't listen." I sigh. "They went, and I insisted on staying home to face the rest of my punishment. Miss Kathie never mentioned it."

"She was disappointed that you didn't go."

"She was disappointed in me."

"That's not true. She did send you home with a recording of the performance after your next lesson."

"Yes, she did." I'm lost in a sensation of extreme wrongdoing. Worse than the fight with my brother, which was an outright brawl over… I don't even know what it was over, but it was probably stupid. I hurt my sister, and all she wanted was to do something nice for me. I was such a shitty child. Hell, I'm a shitty adult as well.

"Stop that inner monologue, Mr. Grey." The clone glares at me. "There will be plenty of time for self-flagellation later, no lifestyle reference intended. Come on. There's one more thing I want to show you."

~oOo~

"But why, Christian?"

_Oh please, not this._

"Why did you bring me here?" I demand. The younger versions of Mia and I argue before us. Well, I argue, she cries. I hate it when she cries. It reminds me what a terrible shit I am, though I try to bury the obviousness through success and when that fails, slights of distraction. I could never stand for my sister to be upset with me, and I can't bear it now, not after what I'd just seen her try to do for me.

The Elena clone tuts at me. "You need to remember what it was like when you left. What it did to her. Look."

"I'm not going to explain myself to you. Mind your own business, Mia. I won't say it again." My younger self is barely containing fury.

I remember this as though it was last week, just fresh enough to still burn my stomach when I thought about it. I was to leave for Harvard that evening, alone. The family had wanted to come along to help me get settled and see me off, but I'd refused, gently, or as gently as I knew how. My motive: Elena was waiting for me on the other end of the plane trip. She was all I could think about. The thought now disgusts me.

"I just don't understand. You used to talk to me. Or at least, you'd let me talk to you. It's like you don't… love me anymore." Her bottom lip trembles. "You're my brother. I love you no matter what, Christian. Please don't go like this." She reaches over to my hands, where I'm furiously shoving clothes into a leather duffel. I swat her away.

"Stop it, Mia."

God, I'd never behave that way now. I'd never do this to her. I had no idea how much Elena had corrupted me, turned me against the ones who actually did love me. I watch as my idiot counterpart zips the bag shut with finality.

"So that's it?" Mia asks.

"What do you want, Mia?" I ask without turning.

She swallows. "Just call when you get in, okay?" Her voice is small, defeated.

I toss the duffel over my shoulder and walk out, a "Yeah" on my lips.

The room darkens, and again I'm alone with the witch. I feel about a hundred years old.

"She forgave you. Not many would," she tells me, her voice eerily calm.

"It was your fault, you know."

"I'm not…"

"Oh cut the crap!" I shout. "You wouldn't have taken this form but to provoke me! So if you want to pretend you're not her, fine. You're going to fucking take this as she would have to if she were really here." My fingers curl into fists, and I have to fight to keep from knocking her on her ass. She deserves far worse. "You're the reason I left in such a hurry. Why I blew off the people who really cared. That's what this last part was about, isn't it? How I turned on my sister for someone who only cared about herself and what I could do for her. Well guess what? You won! I can't take back the way I treated Mia. I can never fucking take that back!"

I'm moving in, forcing Elena backward. She has the nerve to look scared, but I'm nowhere near done.

"But you know what I can do? I can make you miserable for the rest of your life. I can make sure all your businesses fail, and that everyone knows what a cheap whore you really are. I no longer care that you 'saved' me from myself, I'm no longer sure my 'salvation' was all thanks to you. But you're not going to ruin anything else for me. Now get out of my room!" And on that note, I slam the heavy white door in her face.


	4. Chapter 4

~ The Second ~

I sigh, turning to lean against the closed door.

_Shit!_

My old bedroom is gone, and I'm suddenly back home, in my… our bedroom. I lean back against the door, blinking spastically in the chilly darkness. _Fuck, I need another drink._

Something occurs to me, and for a second, I panic… I dash into the walk-in closet and dig through the laundry, yes, the shirt my son threw up on is there, in all its smelly glory. I shove it to the bottom again and exit to the bedroom, raking all ten fingers through my hair. _God, what's happening to me?_

Cold water on my face does little to help, but it marginally calms the cold sweat that had broken out. I need to get a grip and get back to sleep, if at all possible. I crawl under the covers and force myself to relax, praying that Ana and Teddy are sleeping soundly.

My BlackBerry beeps. _Who the fuck could be messaging me at… _I pick it up… _TWO A.M.? Are you fucking kidding me?_

_** Wake up, Christian. We have an appointment. **_

_What the fuck? _And I can't believe my eyes. In the sender's line at the top of the screen, in bold letters, is 'J. FLYNN.'

And in the time it takes for me to scrape my scrambled brains from the sheets and put them back in my head, another message appears.

_** Get up. I'm paid by the hour. **_

Whatever. I'll pay him triple to let me sleep, and besides, what the _fuck_ is he doing, presuming an appointment at this hour? I thought he was on the opposite side of the planet. God, I'm not thinking straight.

"If you make me wait much longer, we'll have to talk about fee increases."

I do believe I shriek, just a little. The serene voice that originated from a dark corner is a familiar one, the silhouette dawning in moonlight to a cross-legged figure with his chin on his steepled fingers. He considers me, as one might consider a mouse in a cage.

"What are you doing here, John?" I demand.

He shakes his head. His hands sweep down his body. "As before, just borrowing the form."

"Are you… the same one as before?"

He laughs. "No. She's refused to work with you again. And besides, it's my turn. Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" I decide on being petulant.

He sighs. "There's still more for you to see. Though I should warn you, getting upset at me over what you've brought on yourself won't get you anywhere. I've been around a lot longer than she has."

I narrow my eyes, and he mirrors my expression. Fuck, he's quite a shit himself. At least I don't have to look at Mrs. Robinson any more. "I still don't understand the purpose of this exercise."

"You will. Come."

~oOo~

The snow falls in little tufted flurries, a frosted window providing a barrier between myself and the cold. I focus my eyes further out, and I recognize… yes, it's the boathouse. _I'm at the family home again; why have I been brought back here?_ I turn slowly, calm as I can muster, until Flynn enters my view. He's in another chair, the standard pensive posture assumed.

"It's Christmas morning, baby boy," my mother's voice cuts through the calm, instantly warming and brightening the living room. She crosses between Flynn and myself, carrying my sleepy Teddy. I step back, and as before, appear to go unnoticed. She clicks on the tree lights, and it springs brilliantly to life, sparkling and shining with all the decorations I remember from childhood. Teddy reaches out to touch a blue glass ball, and my mother cuddles him.

"Where's Ana?" I muse aloud, forgetting for a split second that mom can't hear me. No one can, for that matter.

"Go exploring," Flynn advises.

I think I'll do just that, even if he hadn't suggested it. I turn for the stairs, moving aside as my father comes into the hallway. I wonder offhand if I actually needed to move, if he'd feel me, and follow him to test that hypothesis. Catching up in seconds, I reach out to his shoulder. To my delighted horror, it passes right through as though he's made of air. I haven't experienced anything so creepy in my life, unless you count the current situation, or that of last night in my office.

That line of thought had stopped me where I stood, I realize. I blink, returning to the present, and follow dad into the kitchen, where mom is one-handedly preparing the coffee maker, my toddler son babbling at her hip.

"Grace, you shouldn't be lifting," dad chides.

_What? Why not?_

"Oh, don't fuss," she returns, but allows him to take Teddy from her. "I won't be treated as an invalid."

_What the fuck?!_ I reach into my pocket for my cell, and curse myself for it not being there. _But would it even work, given the circumstance? Were those texts real?_ _Wait, I'm dreaming. Probably. No, definitely. This is just a twisted dream,_ I reassure myself. _I think._

"No, it isn't," a voice calls from behind me. It's Flynn again.

"Then what the fuck is this?" I demand.

"This is what could be happening to the others in your life, if you stay on course, if you must be told." He considers the state of his fingernails. It's very distracting. "And before you say that you don't need to see it, I should point out that you don't even know where your wife is."

_Ana._

Several frightening thoughts cross my mind, considering how we left things last night. I take the stairs three at a time, bound down the long hallway, up the rear stairwell to the third floor and burst into my old bedroom. My heart sinks.

Ana lies curled in the center of an unslept-in bed, in the same sweater she wore when she stormed out, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

"So that's it," she says, her voice very, very small. She listens to the answer, and her breath hitches in her throat. God, she's upset. I'll kill the fucker that did this, made my wife cry. I move closer, barely remembering that she can't see or hear my approach, and sit tentatively on the edge of the bed.

She sniffles. "Okay," she whispers. "I lo-" her words cut off. She holds the phone away, looking at the screen, and then sets it down. Her face crinkles and arms come around herself. She stifles a sob. I lean over, the last thing I see before the BlackBerry screen goes dark is… my name.

_Shit! That was me? She was just talking to me? Fuck. What did I say?_ I reach over, my fingers hovering over her hair, but as before, they sadly pass right through. And for the first time in a while, I've never wanted anything more than to hold her in my arms.

I've not seen her in this much pain, not in such a long, long time. Angry, yes, that's normal now… but this?

She sits up suddenly, as though hearing something, and I know it can't be me. She swipes at her eyes, rising to move to the full mirror. She's composing herself. Heaving a sigh, she trudges through the door and heads downstairs, the weight of three worlds upon her.

_What the fuck did we talk about?_

"He isn't coming."

The devastation in her voice cuts through the kitchen like an arctic wind.

"What?" My father's disbelief is uncharacteristic of his normally even manner. I look to mom, she looks positively horrified. Her arms open out of habit and Ana runs into them. I hear a short sob and her shoulders shake, and then she's quiet, mom rocking her from side to side, speaking inaudible, albeit soothing words into her hair.

And again, I feel like a total shit. I wouldn't miss Christmas with my family without a good reason; what the hell happened on the phone?

"Morning all, Merry Christmas!"

And another shock to my system, Mia has bounced into the kitchen. Mia, who is supposed to be back in Paris opening a pastry shop with one of her old schoolmates. Mia. My sister, who's _supposed_ to be on another continent, not in our parents' kitchen. _That_ Mia.

She takes in the scene. "What's going on?" She takes Teddy, whose arms are outstretched for her.

"Christian unfortunately can't make it this time." Dad's voice is resigned, bordering devastated.

Mia's brow furrows, not understanding.

"Oh, this is absurd!" I shout.

"Is it?" Flynn asks. "You don't fully know the effect you have when you're not around to see it."

"My family isn't this easily broken," I insist. The scene before me continues to play out; Elliott and Kate have come downstairs and Dad is filling them in. Strangely enough, Teddy seems oblivious, squishing his favorite stuffed lion in his little hands. The adults are a mess, and the toddler couldn't be more removed from the situation.

"Why the hell am I not there?" I demand.

"Think about that," the un-Flynn counsels. "What could possibly tear you away on short notice? The answer is easier than you think."

"No," I shake my head. "No, no… I _told_ Ros to keep that shit under control until tomorrow, or at least until the afternoon. I _said_ I'd be busy until then. Something must have happened. It's the only explanation." I realize how I sound, and I turn to the stand-in-Doc. "It's not what you think."

He blinks at me, quiet and unfazed. When he speaks again, his condescending tone, rather than tipping the anger cup, makes me feel two inches tall. "Think about the number of times you've said those five words, and what they imply, regardless of what you mean."

I wonder idly whether John Flynn is really in there somewhere, but the anger that wells up when I find myself again knocks sense into me. "I will _not_ have an… an _apparition_… assume the body of a trusted confidant and proceed to advise me how to handle my affairs!" My voice is even, but laced with hostility. If he were still the Bitch Troll, I'd have done far more expressive things, but some part of the façade has me just a tad intimidated. I hope that inward admission never makes its way back to the real John Flynn, else I'd never live it down.

He holds up his hands to placate me. "Just trying to show you what you wouldn't otherwise see, friend."

"This isn't real," I insist.

"No, it isn't. But it will be, if things stay as they are."

"And what does that even mean?"

He sighs. "Just what I said. Look," he sweeps his hand to indicate the scene playing out in front of us. "These people, your _family_, are largely unaware whether you care for them at all."

The accusation grips my soul, but the devil in me casts it out. "They know I care. Hell, I just donated the projected management costs of my parents' foundation for the next year, and they still have yet to throw it in with their investments. Do you know how much revenue they're losing? I also ensured that my brother's side venture will last the next five years, though with his attention on knocking up his wife, I doubt he notices he has one business to run, much less two. I'm funding Mia's startup costs, talking to suppliers and whatnot, and mind you, the rules are different in Europe than they are here… and she's not even there to run the fucking thing. I sit on top of my fucking world to manage it all, make sure everyone has everything they could possibly ever need or want. And Ana…" my anger thickens suddenly. "How can she be crying? I do this all for her! She and Teddy have the best of everything, a beautiful home, comfortable lifestyle, they want for nothing. And it isn't enough! What must I do?"

The doppelganger sighs. "Let's skip forward just a bit."

The room shudders, twisting and folding, becoming hazy, darkening. I squint, my frustration ebbing a bit, and I focus on the random shapes, how they move and settle.

My parents' bedroom was the stuff of legend. As kids, we were rarely allowed in, so it became a place told of in our own stories, its form and function open to the wildest speculation. And now here I stand, looking upon a wholly unfamiliar but comfortably normal room, and my parents sharing a moment.

"Should we call him, Cary?"

My father shrugs. "I'm not sure what good it will do. Christian hasn't been open with us for quite some time. And if he's not talking to Ana now…" he looks momentarily lost. "She was the only one who could truly reach him."

My mother dabs her nose with a tissue. "I can't imagine where they went wrong. She made him so…"

"Happy," dad finishes the thought. "Yes. I never thought we'd see him truly happy, but for a while, he was. I'm not sure what happened, either. Perhaps Teddy's arrival set something in motion…"

"No, that can't be it. For the first several months, he hardly let anyone else hold him," she exaggerates. That's not entirely true. I just held my son, a lot. And still would, if he didn't cry every time I did.

"We can beat this to death, dear, and I doubt we'll find the answers without hearing Christian's side. Has he been to see John?"

Mom sighs. "I can't get a word out of Rhian. And besides, that breaches all confidentiality. I have to hope that he has."

"As do I."

Mom coughs suddenly, into her tissue. Dad brings his arm around her shoulders. It's a cough I haven't heard before, and when she pulls the tissue away, there's a spot of… _blood_.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Mom nods. "It's not bad today. I'll see Dr. Linney on Wednesday. She may adjust the medication a bit."

Dad gives her shoulders a squeeze. "We'll get through this, Grace. I promise you."

Mom nods. "Everyone is waiting. We should rejoin our family."

I turn on the impostor, unable to settle on an emotion, but a few that pass by are anxious… horrified… seething… "What is wrong with my mother?"

He shrugs. "You haven't been around to find out."

I advance on the bastard, gripping the collar of his expensive dress shirt. "Tell me!"

He stares at me, impassive, unreactive to my assault. "I can't tell you what I don't know. This is your show… well, mostly."

I bear my furious gaze into him. "You must know something!"

"Oh, I know plenty. Just not the answers you want. Now the answers you _need,_ that's a different story. Would you like a few of those?"

"Don't play games with me," I snarl. "Tell me!"

"There's more."

"What do you mean more?"

The room shifts around me, I feel a tingling buzz just before it settles, and I let go of him and get my bearings.

"You need to tell him, Ana. It's for the best. It will just be harder, the longer you wait." Mia curls Ana into her side, stroking the hair off her face.

Ana wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "He can't know that I told you, promise me, Mia. It won't matter if he resents me; he does so much already. But you, I can't bear the thought that he'll resent you, any of you."

Mia nods. "Right now I don't give a damn if he's angry. Have you talked to Mom about this?"

Ana nods. "She knows. I'm so sorry; it feels like this is going to rip everyone apart." Her face crinkles again as though she's in terrible pain, but trying to hold back.

"When will you be going?"

_Going?_

"This evening. My mom will look after me until everything is... sorted." She sighs. "Are you sure Teddy won't be a bother to you?"

She nods. "Of course he won't. We'll take good care of him. Oh Ana, I'm so sorry. This must be so hard to do."

Ana brings her hand to her mouth, eyes squeezing shut and Mia's arms come around her.

_Going? _My heart falls.

"Going where?"

"Hmm? Oh I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Is my wife leaving me?" I demand, the devastation pouring in.

"It did sound that way, didn't it? I can't be sure though, my mind was elsewhere." He raises an eyebrow at me.

I think he's mocking me, but I'm too frantic to care. "Take me home. Let me wake up, whatever. I need to fix this!"

He shakes his head. "I don't think it'll do any good, but all right."

The room shifts, goes nearly pitch black, then slides into the cold of night, and my legs are suddenly freezing. I look down, releasing Flynn reactively, and find myself in another snow drift, the fresh powder melting through my pants. "Where the fuck are we now?"

He looks at me strangely. "Home."

I'm about to retort, rather, to put my fist through his smug face, but the granite tile of the wall before me strikes me as more than a little familiar. I round the corner from the alley, and stop in front of my building… in front of Grey House. A single light is on at the front desk, and oddly enough, it's Andrea occupying the swivel seat. Strange, her duty station is upstairs, or wherever I need her. I push through the revolving door, or make a move to do so, but stumble through when my hand pushes against air once again.

"Yes, Mom. I'll do my best to be there before everyone leaves. All right. Save me some pie will you? Uncle Jerry already did? Tell him thanks. No, I have to wait until Mr. Grey finishes… whatever he's doing up there. He's dragged the other boss away from her family too, it's not just me. No, Mom. I don't have any juicy stories for your tabloid fix. Mr. Grey is very private, and besides, I wouldn't tell even if I knew; I like my job too much and I'd like to keep it. Yes, Mom. All right. I hope to see you later. Love you too. Kisses for Auntie." She hangs up and rests her chin on her hands. I don't think I've ever seen her in a state of boredom before. _What the hell is she doing here? Is it still Christmas? _The calendar on the desk confirms that it is, and the multitude of time zone clocks gracing the logo wall indicate that the time is a quarter of ten. _Ten?_ I'm still in the office on Christmas after dark? The unthinkable must have happened.

"What's going on?" I demand.

Flynn's double shrugs. "How should I know? I thought you were on top of your world.

Now I know he's mocking me. What the _fuck_ is this? It's either the worst, most bizarre and unraveling nightmare I've ever had, or I'm actually losing my mind. And as such, I lose all sense of what to say, how to control this uncontrollable situation.

"Home…" my brain grasps for purchase on some familiar concept. "Home… home, you said you were taking me home, this isn't home!"

"Are you sure?" he raises his eyebrows. "Home is usually the place a person feels most at ease, most in control, of the most worth. Wouldn't you agree?"

"My home is with Ana!" I bellow.

"And as you've seen, she's not at your 'home'," he makes air quotes with his fingers. "Or were you referring to your parents' home?"

"Yes, yes… take me there!" I insist frantically.

"Oh, I'm afraid there's nothing more for you to see there, for now. It's actually time for me to leave you, Mr. Grey."

"Leave me, here? No, damn it, you have to take me home. I have to talk to my wife!"

"Not how this works. I hope you find your way, Mr. Grey, I sincerely do."

He shudders into nothingness, and I'm alone.


	5. Chapter 5

~ In The End ~

_Shit!_

I turn back toward Grey House, hoping perhaps it's warmer inside but to my great shock, it isn't there anymore. A trash-filled lot, lies at my feet. All around me are empty lots, for that matter, scattered among abandoned buildings and worn, graffiti-covered walls. I wonder idly if I'm in the eastern district, but I glance down at the curb and there, where the sweeper has pushed the dirty snow out of the way, in all its concrete-carved glory, is the Grey House address. _Holy. Fuck. What the... have I entered a layer of Hell?_

My feet are freezing. I wrap my arms around myself, hoping to contain at least some warmth before it all slips away, and I think of Ana. God, I need to find her. First, I need to wake from this nightmare, if it even is; I could be certifiable by now... and I can't even recall actually going to sleep! I force my frozen legs to carry me forward, the neighborhood suddenly unfamiliar, and after turning several corners I find I have no idea what direction I'm going.

"Fuck!" The epithet barely leaves my lips when I feel a hand press into my back, between my shoulder blades. As one would react to touching a blazing-hot surface, I stiffen and pull away defensively, spinning on my attacker, fists bared.

A raggedy, brown-haired girl peers up at me from under scraggly hair, most of her face obscured. Her chin is tucked down, eyes wide, unfocused and empty.

I'm instantly regretful of my reaction; this little one poses no threat to someone her size, and even less likely, to me. I lower my hands slowly and heave a sigh. "Can I help you?"

She continues to stare at me, or through me. I'm not sure which. Something occurs to me; she can see me. I felt her.

"Are you... one of them?"

She nods once.

I blink. I don't recognize this one. In fact, she could be anyone, particularly any of the women who had ever subbed for me. In fact...

"Do I know you?"

Blank stare. This isn't helping.

"Listen, I don't know what all of you want from me, but I need to get home and find my wife. Can you wake me?"

More blank staring.

Oh, this is going nowhere. I change tack. "Please?"

She curls her finger at me and turns, and I assume I should follow. I comply reluctantly; perhaps when she's done leading me wherever, she'll take me home, or at least, allow me to interact with others so I can get out of here. It's bloody cold, at the least of my worries.

The surroundings change slightly, from the strangely abandoned downtown to a rickety suburb. Snow has begun to fall in thick, wet clumps, sticking to my shirt, my shoulders, my hair. I'm vaguely shocked that I haven't collapsed from hypothermia. She turns into a yard, towered over by one ancient, gnarled tree, and pauses at the front door.

"Why have you brought me here? Where is here, for that matter?" I don't like the dark, unoccupied look of the place. The front window is cracked, the paint chipping badly and it appears to have been abandoned decades ago. The brunette shadow points a skinny finger at the door handle.

I really don't want to go in here, even to escape the chilling wind. A bad feeling settles into the bottomless pit that is my stomach, but the finger is insistent. My hand closes tentatively around the knob, but as before with everything else, my hand passes right through. I roll my eyes, glare at the girl, and step through the closed door.

The stench overtakes me first. It's vile, almost vomit-worthy, and the chill does little to mask it. Whatever it is I'm supposed to see had better be damned worthwhile. I need to get back to reality so I can stop Ana from leaving me.

The girl moves past me, the finger curling again. Everything is dark, except the light from the street coming through the cracked windows. The place is unfurnished and filthy. I step past a small galley kitchen and cringe at the film of sludge that covers every surface, as though some recluse had used it in the last month and left it. I sincerely hope my companion isn't taking me into a bathroom.

There's a flickering under a door to the back. Unsurprisingly, this is where she points.

"Who's back there?"

She continues to point. She won't look at me.

"Is it safe?"

Still pointing.

I sigh. It must be, if I'm still as silent and invisible as before. Oh, this is ridiculous. I step forward, through another closed door, and blink a bit as my eyes adjust.

A mess of candles and wax lie clumped and scattered over a cold cement floor. Some are lit, most are beyond hope of ever holding light again. It's a long room, no windows, could have been for laundry or storage, but my attention is drawn to the two shivering forms huddled on the floor under various blankets.

The door bangs open and a third enters, passing right through my body. A chill I've never felt before sweeps through me, an aftershock, and I realize in that moment, in this place, I'll never feel warm again.

The third kicks the feet of one, then the other. "Wake up, man. I got it!" He's young, from the sound of his voice, but obscured by his hooded sweatshirt. He has a badly crumpled paper bag in one hand, sits down by a gathering of candles and pours the contents onto the floor.

Drugs.

Fuck, there are so many. He must have robbed a pharmacy. I can't watch this… but I'm rooted to the spot, eyes wide, and I can't look away.

One of the forms has emerged, and perks up when he sees the stash. "Shit, T! Where'd you get all that?"

"Doesn't matter. We're flying tonight and every night this week. I need to forget bad, man."

"Yeah, right… fifteen years since your mom?"

"Tomorrow."

"Sorry, man."

"Yeah." He pushes the hood back and there's a mess of long, dirty, rusty hair.

The other has crawled out from under his pile, half bringing it with him and risking setting himself ablaze from nearby candles. He comes sniffing around the stash. "T, you are one crazy sonofabitch."

"Hey now, the other says, don't talk about his mom that way. It's his dad who's the bastard."

"That he is," the rusty-haired one confirms. But gentlemen, we must give thanks to the old man for this feast, for he made it possible." He palms a bag of pills and dumps them in his other hand. He throws back his head, and I finally see his face. "Dad, this one's for you."

It's a moment suspended in time._ It's me… it looks just like me… at sixteen? Not of age, surely. But this never happened to me, I never looked like this, never this thin, and absolutely never used. Never. An alternate reality? No, not possible, the other boy called him T. T… some of the staff call Taylor that… T…_

_Oh. Fuck. The boy has blue eyes._

"Teddy!" I shout. "Oh God!" I fall to my knees before him, my hands grabbing for his shoulders but passing right through. "Ted, it's me! It's Daddy! Please, don't! Please stop!" I whip around to the girl. "Make him stop!"

She shakes her head.

"Please!" I turn back to Teddy. He's just thrown back a few more pills. _Oh God, he's killing himself._ "What do I have to do? Tell me! I'll do anything, just please stop!"

"Easy man, you got enough to last a month, and I don't wanna be the one to tell your dear auntie we lost ya."

_Dear Auntie? Mia! He must mean Mia.. Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"Damn it!" Fingers wrapped in my hair, pulling hard, I lose all sense of self. My son is a junkie? _My_ son? This isn't happening. It can't happen. _How could I let this happen? Wait… he thanked his old man… me! For the drugs? For access to the drugs? I would never, not ever! How? This is unthinkable!_

The finger drags over my shoulder, and I jump as though I've been burned. "What?" I pant, eyes flying between the finger's owner and my son, now leaning back on a rucksack, dark circles marring his sweet face. I cannot possibly be in possession of my true body, as I feel the desperate need to vomit but haven't the ability. The girl motions me to follow her.

"No, I won't! I have to stay with my son, I can't leave him alone like this! He needs help!"

The girl whirls on me, and for a second I see a flash of dark eyes and pale skin beneath the stringy hair. The effect is immediate. A sickening calm waves over me, and I feel compelled against my will. A last look over my shoulder, and my poor, dear son curls into himself and loses consciousness.

The door slams shut after I walk through, and I'm thrown into absolute darkness.

~oOo~

The calm slips away as a silk scarf shrugged off the shoulders, and despair floods into me, a blood-curdling scream gripping my soul. My son… my beautiful son… how did he come to this? Where could I have gone so wrong? I'm drawn to go back, to sit beside him, to wrap myself around him as though he can feel me, to just be there with him, for him. Anything… I'll do anything for my son. But I'm unable to move, and cold lashes through me once more. My eyes grasp for purchase, seeking anything, any reassurance that I haven't gone blind, and finally there's a tiny light, then another, another… tens, hundreds. Thousands of stars. A feeling of being dropped from the heavens, and my feet contact the cold ground. Another snowdrift, piled against old brick, initials scratched into the mortar under the window…

E – C – M.

Elliott, Christian, Mia. I remember doing that, each of us carving our initials with Elliott's pocketknife. It's the north side of my parents' house.

The girl drifts past me, a true apparition in the night, tangled brown locks raining down her back. The finger beckons, and I'm pulled through brick and drywall. The first thing I notice is that it's rather cold inside, and dark, too dark. A sudden impatience and anxiety overtakes my numbed, strangely complacent senses and I dash past the girl, through the east wing hallway and, when I see a hint of light, down a flight of steps, hurling myself into the family gathering room. A small fire burns weakly in the giant hearth.

"I thought I'd find you here."

The voice takes me by surprise. It's Mia's, definitely, but it's aged… aged and broken. She moves to the hearth and kneels down; I have to cross to the other side of the room to see her now. The other, committed to the rug by the fire, is my father, of this I'm absolutely sure. From behind, he's more slouched, blonde hair has been dusted with white, but I recognize the emerald sweater… one I bought him, actually. I want to go to him, to them, to yell and scream and hope that they can hear me, that I can tell them where Teddy is, that they'll find him and bring him home. But my legs have stiffened, and I can no longer compel them to do my bidding.

"What do you need, darling?" Dad's voice is soft, resigned.

"Nothing, Daddy," Mia assures him, almost placating him. "Might I make you some tea? Hot chocolate? It's awfully chilly down here. Why don't you come up to the kitchen? I've just refreshed the fire." Mia is full of words as she ever was, but her tone is gentler than ever before. She's slender, even more so than I remember, her raven hair tied back, high cheekbones pale and pronounced. She clutches a cream cardigan around her, shoulders hunched against the room's chill.

Dad reaches out and grasps her forearm in reassurance. "That's all right, my dear, but thank you," he says.

They're quiet for a long moment, the silence punctuated only by small crackles from the dying embers. Mia fidgets a little. It's so hard for her to stay still for long.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?"

"Daddy," Mia chides mildly. "You're down here thinking, and I know there's something on your mind. I've gotten pretty good at reading your mood. Please, talk to me. We're all each other has."

_What?_

"Not true. Your brother will be here tomorrow, and he may bring the girls."

_Girls? What girls?_

"Oh…"

"Mia, do you know something?"

Mia wrings her slender hands. "He called this afternoon, said Kate has decided to take them to her brother's… there will be more children for them to play with over there. He may have them for New Year's, though."

_Elliott and Kate… separated?_

"You can say his name, Mia." A change of subject, Dad's usual means of covering his disappointment.

"Fine, _Ethan's_ kids apparently get along well with Ava and Ellen. So they're going with Kate over there for Christmas. Is that better?"

Dad sighs. "I'm sorry, darling. It's been hard all around. I wish you two had… made it together. I thought you might, anyway."

"Mom needed me. You know that," she snaps.

"Your mother would have wanted to see you happy. Yes, she cherished every moment she had with you, I don't doubt that for a second. But your happiness was always and forever more important to her. And it is to me, now."

_Mom?_ My knees weaken, but a strange, painfully static force holds me upright. _She's… gone? No… that can't be… it can't… God, please, please no… I can't hear this…_

Mia swipes at her eyes. "Mom would have wanted us _all_ together, Daddy. I feel like we've failed her."

"Oh, sweetheart." Dad takes Mia in his arms, rocking her gently as she sobs quietly into his chest. "You've failed no one. You took such good care of your mother, right up until the very end. You made sure we always had a comfortable sanctuary to come to, even when I wasn't able to face everyone. You cared for me, still do, and what's more, you took Teddy on, were the best mother to him that he could have possibly had under the circumstances. If anyone's failed, it's me."

Mia sits back. "No, Daddy, you took care of us, you always did. How can you say that?"

Dad's breath hitches. "I failed your brother. After Ana…" he chokes.

_Ana? God, she did leave me, leave us. I couldn't stop her in time. Oh God… they're blaming themselves, but I'm the failure._

"We _all_ tried, Daddy. We did…" she stifles another wave of sobs. "Christian just shut down. He's not the same. He'll never be the same."

"Have you heard from him?"

Mia shakes her head. "Just the funds for Teddy every month. He doesn't even care that Teddy won't come home anymore. I can't believe he gave him the emancipation without a second thought, has he no idea what that poor boy goes through!"

"Oh, I think he has a very good idea," Dad says gravely. "A very, very good idea. But I think his demons have finally caught up with him, and he can no longer fight them, even if it means saving his own son."

My head is reeling with panic, with bitter despair. Teddy… Mom… Ana. Lost to me… it's my worst nightmare come to life. My legs finally buckle, and I sink to my knees. _Where did I go wrong? Was it the long hours at the office? Does that even matter now?_ I begin to doubt that it does… and I wonder idly if this is my punishment… to live out this reality as penance for all the wrong I've done in the world, all the wrong I've done to my wife, to my son. I wonder where she is now, why she didn't take Teddy with her…

And as the realization hits me, my soul is shot through, bleeds out. She couldn't take him. Not didn't, _couldn't._

"… _fifteen years since your mom?"_ the boy said.

"_Tomorrow,"_ Teddy had replied.

Seventeen years hadn't touched the face I'd seen. Couldn't have. _Oh, please dear God no…_

"_Tomorrow."_

"_He isn't coming."_

_Oh, God! _"Ana!" I holler, the panic a jagged blade, piercing my soul. My legs barely obey, but I'm hoisted shakily to my feet. I have to get out of here, I have to go back! Where the fuck is she? The one who can take me… the only one who can make this end…

The brown-haired spectre stands before me, as if on cue. She's thinner, dirtier, and raises her arm toward me, extending her finger… until it points directly at my heart.

"Take me to my wife!" I demand. "Please, please… if this ordeal is to mean anything I must see her. Please, I have to see Ana!

The cold darkness envelops me once again, and I'm falling… falling…

I collapse to the ground… into hard-packed snow and dirt. Pushing myself up, I spit what I think might be blood from my mouth; the pain from impact not yet painful… a typical delay after a stunning injury… bringing my fingers to feel my nose, my tongue swipes over my teeth. No blood, nothing evidently broken, and again, I'm outside, in a clearing by the looks of it, and again, it's freezing, accentuating the panic.

"Where is this? I asked you to take me to Ana!" I demand to the girl, standing idly by.

She points again, past me this time.

"For Christ's sake, there's nothing here!"

An utterly haunted voice blows me back like a freight train. _"You. Will. Look!"_

I stumble back, and fall over something hard. She advances on me, her hair finally blown back. From my position on the ground, she towers over me. The light from the moon illuminates her face, her dark eyes shining, all intent focused on me.

"Please," I whimper. I don't remember ever whimpering in my life. Not since… not for a long, long time. "I only want to find my wife. She's my reason for living. Please, can you take me to her?"

"I have."

I look quickly from side to side. "I don't see her," I shake my head frantically.

She points, down at me. Or through me… I find that my palms are pressed against a surface, flat, cold, and hard. A sense other than panic, the one known as horror, floods into me. I choke on the air, on what I dread is true. I turn over, bracing on my knees, not wanting to find out… but I must. I have to know. My fists clench… _I can't… no, I have to_. Holding my breath, I brush the dusting of snow away.

_~o~_

_Anastasia Rose Grey_

_September 10, 1989 – December 26, 2013._

_Loving Wife and Mother_

"_You are my love, my life, my more." –Christian_

_~o~_

I sit back, my eyes unable to look away from the words before me. My heart has given out. I can no longer feel it… feel anything. My hands reach out desperate to feel its realness, fingers run over the chiseled letters, over the smooth marble surface, no longer cold to the touch, over the edges.

My hand stops near the bottom, where the snow still covered. Here, there are more letters. I brush the snow away, expecting more details of my wife's demise, or words of comfort. There are none.

_~o~_

_Baby Girl Grey_

_December 26, 2013_

___~o~_

_Oh... it can't be. I would have known, somehow. I should have known. Oh dear God, it should have been me, not them._

Whatever is left of my broken heart crumbles to pieces. And finally, the tears fall.

"If she tried to tell me, I didn't listen," I whisper. "I never listened."

Snow has begun to fall again, light flurries, landing on me, but I don't feel their cold bite anymore. The girl has moved around to the side of the grave, her feet are bare, I've just noticed. She kneels.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice soft and sweet.

I shudder a breath. "For what?"

She sighs. "For failing you."

"What are you talking about?" I whisper. I look up, into the face of a porcelain doll. Her dark gray eyes shine, soft brown hair pooling at her shoulders.

And I know who she is.

"Ella…"

She nods. "Hello, Christian."

I stumble back, an ancient reaction, my chest tight with fear. But she's so small… impossible that she could harm me. A new emotion gains purchase. "You did this." My accusation is the barest whisper.

She nods, sorrowfully.

I choke on my next breath.

"Why?"

She blinks. "Because I was weak. I had no more strength when you came into my life, because I'd given it all to you."

I shake my head, not wanting to believe her, but realizing just how true it is. "But I don't have any left."

"You do. It's always there, guiding you. It's what I wanted for you."

"You wanted nothing for me!" My sudden anger flows from every part of me. "You left me to die!"

"I did," she nods, absolute remorse in her eyes. "But it was part of a greater plan, far beyond my control, one I'm still only beginning to understand. I left you, and in turn, it saved you."

"Saved me?" I whisper in disbelief.

She watches me, waiting for the understanding to sink in.

_Saved me… she left, died… and then Grace found me, adopted me. Brought me into a family, made me a brother. Gave me a home, a life, and every opportunity that fell into place, even the ones I'm not proud of, but they brought me to this point, too. Brought me to Ana, brought Teddy into our lives. If I hadn't been abandoned… none of that would have happened._ I reel, sobered by the revelation.

"You saved me."

"From more than you know," she tells me. "It's up to you now, to save yourself."

She rises, turns, and pads slowly away, leaving small, perfect footprints in the snow. Nothing compels me to follow.

My eyes return to the grave beside me. Suddenly, I'm so very, very tired. I lie down against the cool marble, resting my cheek next to Ana's name, and brush my fingers back and forth over the letters.

"Ana," I swallow, not sure what to say. "I'm so, so sorry, baby. I took you for granted. You gave me life, and I failed you. And all you ever did was love me."

The snowfall ceases at some point; I don't notice until a time later, when I gaze upward and the flurries no longer touch my face. The sky has cleared, the stars twinkling gently from above, perhaps looking down upon me, upon this place. And something within me compels me to speak to them.

"Please, if there's a way… I beg you to send me back. I'll make it right. I'll make everything right again, or die trying. My family deserves better. They deserve everything." I shudder a breath, closing my eyes as realization finally takes hold. "They deserve _me_."


	6. Chapter 6

~ In the Beginning ~

The cold seeps in once again. My hand reaches out, searching for the chiseled letters, for some bitter, final closeness to the woman I love. The smooth coldness is there, but the letters are gone. A light grows before my eyelids, and dear Lord, I can almost smell her jasmine shampoo.

Wait, I _can_ smell it. My eyes fly open.

My fingers grip the smooth oak headboard of the master bed. _I'm home. In my bed!_ Our bed… the blankets are tangled at my feet, her pillow by my head; I'm still dressed in my pants and shirt from yesterday. A frigid breeze makes me shiver.

The window… I cracked it yesterday evening, I recall, and it must have blown open during the night. Moving to secure it, I see down on the lawn that a fresh blanket of snow has fallen overnight, one of the largest snowfalls I've seen in a long time, even since I was a child. Snow, fresh and clean, sparkling, like new life.

The events of my dreams come flooding back.

"Ana!" I shout. I need her. I'm compelled beyond sanity to go to her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. _Fuck, it's Ros._ I accept the call.

"Grey."

"I'm glad I caught you, sorry to interrupt your holiday… there are some loose ends we need to go over immediately."

My eyes fly upward and I heave a sigh. "I can't right now, Ros. You deal with it."

"Sir, I've tried, but they want you, else it's no deal."

I don't take the slightest pause to consider. "Then it's no deal. I don't care anymore Ros, they've strung us along thus far and I frankly don't give a damn what their demands are this time, or anytime in the future. You tell them I said that, and then go home. I don't want you back at the office until Thursday. Now I have to go."

"But Sir…"

"Merry Christmas, Ros. Go enjoy the holiday. There's far more to life." I end the call without waiting for a response and shove it in my back pocket. It buzzes again a few seconds later, and I ignore it.

The double bedroom doors bang against the wall, the handles likely leaving matching dings in the wallpaper, as I throw them open and race down the hall and stairs, sliding over the hardwood in my socks. At the bottom, I crash directly into none other than Jason Taylor.

"My apologies, Sir. Are you all right?" he helps to right me, and then adjusts his sweater.

"You're here?" I half-query, half-accuse.

"Yes, Sir. A storm hit the highways to the south pretty badly and they closed the roads, we had to turn back. I hope you don't mind, Sir, I thought I'd take a shift in the control room this morning."

"No, no… of course not," I stammer. "Jason, don't think too much into this… what's the date?"

"Sir… it's Christmas Day," he tells me, more than a little warily.

"Are you sure? December twenty-fifth, two thousand thirteen?"

"Yes, Sir." Now he looks downright concerned.

"Thank you, Jason. I need to go find my wife." I clap him on the shoulder.

"I'll drive you, Sir."

"Oh no, that's all right. I'll manage."

"Sir," he comes to stand between me and the door. "Please, I insist. I guarantee utmost efficiency."

I'm torn, but I'd rather not argue, and he's probably right to stop me, so I nod.

Taylor returns it. "I'll bring the car out front. Might I get you a coat and shoes as well, Sir?"

I look down at my relative state of unpreparedness. "I'll get them and meet you out front."

"Very good, Sir."

~oOo~

"Christian, this is a bit of an early surprise," Dad greets me at the door; the one I burst through without knocking. He's himself, still robust and buoyant, though his brow is furrowed with concern. "We weren't sure whether to expect you. Merry Christmas."

"Yes, and to you. Where's Ana?"

My father is a very intuitive man, one of the reasons his law career has been so successful, and so senses the reason for my haste and unintentional rudeness. "Your room, likely. We've all just gotten up."

"Thank you," I call behind me as I dash for the stairs. I take them three at a time, as I have since I had legs long enough to do so. At the second landing, I nearly crash into my mother. In her arms, clad in blue striped flannel pajamas, is my sleepy little boy.

"Christian?" her tired face brightens, "Oh, it's so good to see you, darling."

My hands reach out toward them, one to my mother's face as I kiss her cheek, the other to my son's back. At my touch, he un-buries his face from his grandmother's neck.

"Da-da-da," he babbles.

"Yes, baby boy, I'm here," I tell him, a grin touching my lips, and to my great astonishment, he reaches for me. My heart skips twice; he hasn't come to me so willingly in months. My mother passes him into my arms, and as I clutch him to my chest, his little hands snake around my neck. I press kisses to his soft copper hair. "Daddy's here. I'm finally here."

Mom just watches us, an expression of contentment in her eyes.

"Teddy, will you go with your grandmother? I promise I'll see you in a little while, all right?"

Sometimes he understands every word, other times just a few, as he's still so little. But he nods into my chest. It hurts me to give him up, but he goes reluctantly, clinging to my mother again. She caresses his back soothingly. "Make things right with Ana, will you?" she tells me.

I nod. "That's why I'm here." I half-turn to continue to the third floor, and then I remember. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you… is everything all right, with you? And Dad?"

She smiles. "Everything is fine. My children are home."

It isn't the answer I was looking for, but it'll have to do. There's still time. I've been given precious more time.

I continue down the hall, slowing to a walk as not to disturb those still sleeping, but as she has since we were children, Mia hears me coming and peers out of her door. I owe her so much more than this, but on impulse, I push her door open, wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.

"Christian?" she asks, tentatively wrapping her arms around my waist. "Surprise."

"I love you, Mia." The words are filled with reverence.

She giggles. "Love you too, big brother. I missed you."

_Oh Mia, you have no idea._ I break reluctantly from her and hold her at arm's length. "We need to talk later today, all right? I have things I should have told you long ago."

Her eyes widen, but she nods. I kiss her cheek and bound down the hall and up the rear stairs, leaving her adequately confused, but hopefully, feeling far more cherished.

My old room, altered only to accommodate a larger bed, lightens with the morning sun. I pull the door shut behind me with a tiny click, and pad over to the bed, toeing my shoes and peeling off my coat as I go. Carefully, I slide into the bed, under the covers, and oh, I feel her warmth.

Ana is the most beautiful girl in the world, but there's something to be said about her beauty in sleep. Dark lashes fan over her cheeks and flutter like butterfly wings. She's still dreaming. Of what, I wonder? Her pink lips are parted slightly, her pale cheeks so touchably smooth, but I resist. Her breaths are slow and even, but as she begins to sense me as she always does, they quicken a bit, and soon her eyes blink open.

"Merry Christmas, my love."

"Hmm… Christian?" she stretches, and I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. Oh, how her warmth and soft skin soothe me. "I wasn't sure you were coming."

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry."

She nods sleepily, but her expression becomes wary. "For what?" she asks.

Yesterday, I might have been offended that she'd want to drag an explanation from me, but I'm uncharacteristically eager to do so, knowing full-well that I owe her so much more than words can say, that I _want_ to explain myself and more importantly to apologize, and to tell her exactly how I will make things right. "I don't know where to begin," I say, locking my gaze with hers. "I've been everything from absent and apathetic to contrary and downright terrible. I stopped listening to you. I'm appalled at how I've behaved of late. I thought I was doing the right thing, making sure your needs were met, that you and Teddy and the family were taken care of, but I'd stopped listening to what those needs actually were."

She looks amazed. "You're not going to beat yourself up next, are you?"

"No, no… baby, I won't, though I feel compelled to. I came to tell you that I love you, more than anything in this world. You and Teddy, our family. You mean everything to me, and I took you for granted. I've made so many mistakes in the last many months, and you've suffered for them. I see that now. And I intend to make things right."

Her expression has phased to one of skepticism. Yes, she's heard this before, a few times this year, after particularly bad fights, where the goal was only to placate her for the time being, and I'm now appalled at the tactic. "This isn't like those other times." I swallow. "If I tell you something, will you promise to hear me out, and to try very hard to believe me?"

She nods, after only the smallest hesitation. Telling her my secrets, baring my soul to her, intrigues her to a point of absolute open-mindedness, and my fear of her reaction evaporates.

I haul in a breath before I begin. "Last night, after you left, I had what I can only describe as… an experience. In some ways, it was almost spiritual in nature. I believe I was shown exactly what could happen to you, to Teddy, to our family, if I were to continue as I have been. It was a rude awakening, to put it mildly."

Ana swallows. "That sounds awfully Dickensian, Christian."

"Oh, Ana…" I chide her gently, "What shall I do with you? I'm baring my soul here. Am I to understand that you don't believe me?"

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, as though to shake off the preconception. "I'm sorry. Please tell me."

Pressing a kiss to her knuckles, I continue. "It's all right." I sigh. "It scared me. Terrified, even. Part of me is still more frightened than I can handle, but here you are, warm and safe, and I have another chance to make sure things are right between us."

"Does this mean…" she trails off.

"For starters, it means I'm not going to Boston anymore. I don't care if the deal falls apart as a result, I only care about you. You and Teddy need me home, and so that's where I'll be."

Her fingers twitch against mine, held fast to my chest. "I can't ask you to give that up…"

"You aren't," I raise my eyebrows in assurance. "But it's not just that. By wanting more material security for us, I forgot to be glad in what we have together, what we have now. And that's each other. I've been locking myself away, reverting to old habits, and it's no good for us. I want to be open and honest with you, always, about everything that touches our lives. I need to start talking to John more regularly again, and if you're willing, I'd like you to be there, to have a voice."

She stares at me incredulously, and then her face crumples. In less than a second I've pulled her to me, her face buried in my chest before the first sob escapes.

"Oh Ana, please don't cry," I beg. "I didn't mean to make you upset. Talk to me, baby. Tell me what I need to do, I'll do anything."

She cries quietly against me, and for a moment, I remember the scene in the kitchen downstairs from my dream; it happened right about now actually, that she cried in my mother's arms. Oh, how different things could have been.

"Shh… darling. I'm here. I'm here." I stroke her hair, my other palm traveling up and down her back, over her thin cotton pajamas. They can't possibly be warm enough.

She sniffles, pulling away slightly and her hand slides from my chest, up along my shoulder and neck, to rest against my bristled cheek. "I missed my husband," she says.

My breath hitches. "He's returned to you, love." And she pulls my face toward hers; I make up the distance, meeting her halfway. Our lips touch, sending a current of warmth between us, and the fire in my belly ignites. She must feel it too, because she melds herself to me, hitching her leg over mine. I roll her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress, our lips never parting. She grasps at the fabric of my shirt, and I wrestle out of it, her hands going to my chest, running over my sides and down my stomach as my mouth descends on hers once again. I know what she wants, and she can have it, all of it, all of me.

"I need you," she breathes.

"I'm yours," I tell her.

~oOo~

Not too much later, we lie wrapped around each other, completely sated. My hands run lazily over her arms, her shoulders, across her collarbone, my lips pressing soft kisses to her temple. She leans into me, and though I feel her faith in me is restored, I am resolute in the will to ensure it never wavers again. I smile against her cheek.

She giggles. "What?"

"I just remembered, all our Christmas gifts are at home. In my hurry to get here this morning, I forgot to bring them."

"Oh, is that all?" She props herself up on an elbow and looks down at me, her knowing eyes holding something back. "Well, Mr. Grey, you'll be happy to know that your gift from me is here."

Something about her tone has me positively giddy, and I grin. "Is it? May I open it now?"

She wrinkles her nose. "I don't think you'd want it right this minute. Delayed gratification and all that."

My brow furrows. "Please? Pretty please? Oh come on, Ana, don't I even get a hint?"

She rolls her eyes. God, I love that. "Only if you promise not to freak out," she says.

"And why exactly would I do that?" I tease, though my anxiety grows at her request. Then, it dawns on me. My eyes widen. "Ana, are you…?"

The corners of her mouth turn up into a blissful, dazzling smile, and it melts my heart. "Yes, we are. Merry Christmas, Daddy."

My lips find hers, and my hand, trembling with joy, comes to rest on her still-flat belly. Her fingers cover mine, holding me to her.

My family is safe, warm and happy. But most of all, we are loved. And I shall make sure that their lives are such, forever. God bless us all, every one.


End file.
